


Fade-touched

by thenakednymph



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bonding, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Vitaar, blatant abuse of Qunari culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 22:32:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3546152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenakednymph/pseuds/thenakednymph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Quick doodle of Solas' Vitaar.<br/>For shiggles.<br/>http://thenakednymph.tumblr.com/post/115121252351/still-fiddling-random-update</p></blockquote>





	Fade-touched

Solas is surprised when a few hours before they're ready to attack Corypheus there's a tentative knock on his door. Living in the bottom of the tower off the main hall he's used to a great deal of foot traffic, people coming and going at all hours. Some have taken to using the back door, trying to disturb him as little as possible and he can't say he minds. The near constant flown of people is something he's grown used to, but few ever bother to knock. The gesture surprises him.

Sister Nightingale is in the War Room with the other advisors, no doubt making preparations for the upcoming battle. Dorian's disappeared to Maker knows where, and most of the others have vacated the tower for their own destinations, leaving it distutbingly quiet. Even the chatty ravens are subdued.

He crosses the room and opens the door, surprised to find Adaar, shifting her weight on the other side. "Inquisitor."

She jumps as the door opens and he smiles, trying to soothe what he presumes to be pre-battle nerves considering the last time she met Corypheus she nearly died.

It only seems to make her more jittery. Her eyes keep skipping between him and the doorframe or the floor, never managing to settle anywhere for long.

"Come in." He steps aside and ushers her into the room, shutting the door softly behind her once she's slunk past.

Adaar shuffles over to his desk, setting down whatever it is she has cradled in her arms. She shifts about, a bundle of nervous energy he can almost smell. Waffling about, she straightens and re-straightens the canvas lumps on Solas' desk before turning to face him. She's worrying at her lower lip, unable to meet his eyes.

"We meet Corypheus in a few hours," he says, trying for casual conversation while attempting to draw her out. Instead of answering she just nods, lip still caught between her teeth, chewing carefully. He's afraid she'll draw blood if she keeps at it much longer.

"I'm sure everyone's making final preperations," he goes on, ducking his head and trying to catch her eye. "Some are glad I think that it's all coming to a head." He sinks into his chair, watching her standing awkwardly, twisting her fingers into knots in front of her stomach. She seems on the verge of pacing, a habit Josephine can't seem to break her of no matter how hard she tries.

Solas can't imagine what's got Adaar so on edge. Talking to her doesn't seem to be helping so he arranges himself in his chair, content to wait her out. His own fingers are laced gently and resting atop his thigh, one ankle across the opposite knee. Adaar glances at him, his silence doing more to draw her out than any attempt at conversation has so far. Finally she huffs, her arms dropping to her sides in defeat, shoulders slumping.

"This was a really stupid idea," she mumbles, "I'm sorry to have wasted your time." She reaches for the pile of cloth and what sounds like ceramic scraping beneath the fabric and he puts a hand over hers to stop her.

"It's not stupid," he says. She glances at her hands still around the pile. Her eyes are wide with something akin to desperation and pleading like she can't decide whether to stay or gather up everything and run. Solas leans forward, giving her hand a squeeze. "What may I do to help?"

Adaar lets out a slow breath, withdrawing her hand from under his and sinking into the chair across from him. Solas can't help but feel she's hiding behind his desk. Her fingers are twisting together again, her shoulders hunched forward like she's trying to disappear.

"We're friends right?" 

Solas blinks at the odd turn in conversation, not sure where she's going with it. "Of course. After everything we've been through I should think so." He smiles at her encouragingly and she nods, her braid slipping forward over her shoulder. She tugs on it, wrapping it around her hand in a loose coil and giving it a gentle tug before letting it slide free and repeating the motion. 

She hesitates a moment before going on. "If this..." She gestures between them indicating the pile. "If you're not comfortable with this it's okay. It's really not a big deal." He tries not to laugh, but he's never seen her so flustered and some part of him is amused that she could be so terrified of him; he's half her size. But then he remember what he is and the laughter dies in his chest.

"I don't even know what it is you're asking me to do yet," he says gently and she flushes. Her mouth works to form words, contorting itself into varying shapes without sound, like she doesn't know where to start. He gives her a moment to collect her thoughts and finally she settles on a beginning, albeit one he isn't expecting.

"When I was a child my father would paint my Vitaar for me." The words are stumbling and awkward, but at least she's speaking. "He said it would protect me, that my ancestors would walk with me into battle." She shrugs, her eyes on her hands in her lap. "Call it superstition, but I always believed I fought a little better when he'd painted it instead of me."

She lifts her eyes, her knuckles white where they've frozen in place atop her thighs. "It's been a long time since he's been here to do it for me, but right now I feel like I could use all the help I can get, even if it's only in my head. And I know this is a lot to ask, but-" Her teeth clamp shut around the words and she has to force them out. "Would you be willing to paint it for me?"

Solas can see a muscle in her jaw twitch as she grinds her teeth, forcing herself to meet his gaze, her shoulders rigid. Even beneath the fabric of her fitted tunic he can see the muscles in her forearms bulge, forming knots up her arms and into her neck. He can see her pulse hammering in her throat. She's trying not to let show just how much this means to her.  

Solas is struck dumb by the request. Surely there are others more suited to the task. Not only is the Vitaar poisonous to any species other than the Qunari her request is incredibly intimate and one he never expected her to make, least of all of him. 

Now Solas is the one to struggle for words and every moment that passes in silence Adaar's anxiety grows. Sweat dapples her forehead and her pupils expand, swallowing the ring of color in her irises. 

 "I'm sorry," she says in a rush of air, like she's been holding her breath and it wouldn't surprise him if she has. "Like I said, it was a stupid idea." She moves to scoop the bowls she has hidden beneath the canvas into her arms and run from the room. Solas has to catch both her hands to stop her, launching himself halfway out of his chair to do so.

"I did not say no," he presses, trying to put words to his thoughts. "I am...surprised," he says, holding her hands. He rubs small circles against the webbing between her thumb and first finger without realizing it. "Surely there are others more suited to the task."

Adaar drops into her chair again like he's knocked the wind from her and Solas hesitates to follow. He's afraid she'll run again but she seems resigned to her embarrassment and further explanation. "The Bull at the very least as the request is unlikely to kill him," he teases and Adaar's face pales.

"I didn't even think of that." She puts her head in her hands and groans. "Maker, could this have gone any worse," she asks, her voice like gravel from anxiety. Solas moves around the desk to stand in front of her, leaning back against the edge.

Practically sitting on it as he is he's still almost eye level with her and again he finds himself struck by her size. For someone so big she can seem so small.

"I'm flattered by the request Inquisitor." He waits until she's looked up to continue. "It would be an honor, I'm just surprised." She glances at him from under her eyebrows and he takes it as a good sign. "Why me?" He smiles at her and she lifts her head, bolstered by his patience and sincerity. She'd almost expected him to dismiss the request outright. 

She tugs on her lip with her teeth again and he has to resist the urge to reach out and stop her. Her lips are already dry and prone to splitting. "I know we spend a great deal of time talking about the Fade and spirits," she says.

"A past time I greatly enjoy," he cuts in and Adaar smiles. 

"But I also value your wisdom and council," she goes on. "I appreciate you're willingness to speak your mind, even if your opinion may not be a popular one. Or one I even agree with." Her smile is wry but infinitely more comfortable than it was before, more natural.

What little amusement can be found in her features vanishes though as she goes on, her voice dropping with her eyes. "To be honest I think the Bull would laugh if I asked him and while I love Varric I wouldn't put it past him to draw something obscene." Her face scrunches up in a silent laugh and Solas delights in the expression. "And you're the only other person I trust to ask." She's blushing again but her gaze doesn't waiver. She's embarrassed, but not ashamed and eventually Solas nods, satisfied by her answer.

Standing he tugs his tunic into place. "Very well then. I know a spell to protect against the poisoning, it shouldn't be a problem." 

He plucks at the canvas with his fingers, lifting an eyebrow questioningly and she nods, watching as he tugs the cloth free revealing the cascade of ceramic bowls beneath. Each is filled with assorted paint, some already crusting and dry around the edges.

"I wasn't sure what colors you might need so I just made an assortment," she says, gesturing at the bowls. They're all stacked atop one another in several teetering piles and he's amazed she didn't spill any on her way over.

"I have to admit I'm not entirely sure what to paint," he says and Adaar shrugs. "Whatever you want." She seems to rethink her statement and then adds, "within reason," which draws a smile from Solas.

"Then let us begin." He casts the spell before sorting the bowls, taking stock of the colors she's brought him. He didn't know the Vitaar could come in such a wide assortment. Inspite of the variety he finds himself drawn to the black.

He lifts the bowl carefully in his hands, cradling it in his palm, briefly wondering where it came from. She certainly didn't bring the bowls with her from Haven.

He studies Adaar's face for a moment before carefully drawing two fingers trough the Vitaar. He rubs them together, pondering the substance, letting instinct guide him.

He draws two lines down her forehead and nose, leaving a small line of skin exposed between, bringing them down across her lips to her chin. He traces the outline of her jaw with the Vitaar and back up to her ear, arching back down beneath the high ridge of her cheekbone to the corner of her mouth. He draws the paint almost to her Cupid's bow before filling in the open space of her cheek. He mirrors the outline and shape on the opposite side of her face, painting the hollows of her cheeks black.

Picking up more of the blak he thickens the lines on her nose, bringing the Vitaar down to either side, drawing the lines down to her mouth again in a thick border. He paints over her eye, coating her browbone and sweeping back across her temple, winging out from her brow.

He's careful when tracing out the hollow beneath her eye, keeping his touch light with the pads of his fingers. Tilting her chin with one hand, he coaxes her to look up, bringing the paint as close to her lower lid as he can.

He draws a rough line across her brow, smearing the paint up over the thin skin covering the base of her horns and into her hair, painting his way back down to where he started. He covers her forehead with gentle sweeps of his fingers and thumb, tilting her head first one way and then another, bringing the planes of her face into the light.

The Vitaar is already beginning to dry on her chin, hardening to protect her almost as well as any armor, but far more flexible. He can see why the Qunari are fond of it. 

The black is harsh against her skin and he sits back for a moment to study his work. Something's missing, he can feel it.

Wiping his fingers on an old piece of cloth Solas reaches for the yellow, murmuring a spell under his breath as he coats his palm. He supports her chin with his fingers, tilting her head just so. He wants to get this right.

He holds his breath, trying to keep his hand from shaking as he presses it to the side of Adaar's face.

The bottom of his palm slants across her lips, his thumb resting on her opposite cheek. His fingers branch out across her forehead and one eye leaving the hollow shadowed and dark when he pulls away.

The yellow handprint he leavesbehind  seems to whisper back at him, some small piece of the fade wrapping itself tightly up inside the mark. It isn't much, but it should help protect her from spirits and demons in the final battle. She's always so vulnerable when closing the rifts, a fact that always bothered him, but maybe in some small way this will help. 

He smiles to himself, pleased with his work and wipes his hands clean, nodding as if to affirm he's done even though Adaar can't see it. She must sense the movement because she opens her eyes, blinking up at him. Her eyes are wide and almost glow in the shadow of the Vitaar, the bold yellow more gold than he's ever seen them. "Is it finished?" Solas nods again and she smiles, her teeth floating in the black and yellow of her Vitaar. "Thank you," she murmers, suddenly shy again. "This-" She reaches up as if to touch her face, then thinks better of it. "It means a lot to me."

He inclines his head to her. "Of course. It was an honor. One I would hope to repeat someday." He thinks she flushes again but under the Vitaar it's difficult to tell.

Adaar collects the bowls in her arms, the sight almost comical as she turns and heads for the door, leaving him to wash his hands in a basin along the far wall. "I'll leave you alone to prepare then," she says. "We'll be heading out soon."

"I will see you on the battlefield then," he promises. 

She seems pleased but he can't say why. He watches as she struggles for a moment with the door, the bowls teetering precariously before she manages to open it, easing it shut behind her.

Later when she looks at his handiwork in a mirror she can't help but smile, studying the handprint closely. She can feel it pulsing with magic, the surface rippling as she watches. The sensation is warm and comforting, the Anchor in her hand reacting to it, the two magics intertwining. She smiles at her reflection, lifting her hand and staring at the Anchor for a moment before the Vitaar once again draws her gaze. "Fade-touched," she murmers, stroking the now dry print with her fingers. "I like it."

**Author's Note:**

> Quick doodle of Solas' Vitaar.  
> For shiggles.  
> http://thenakednymph.tumblr.com/post/115121252351/still-fiddling-random-update


End file.
